The Third Test: Qi Circulation
Circulating qi. It formed the foundation of all martial arts. Even if one earned top marks in the previous strength and agility tests, a poor evaluation in this third test of qi aptitude meant they were unlikely to ever reach the pinnacle as a supreme martial artist.
Thus, even if someone failed the first two tests, acing this third one could completely overturn their prior assessments. That was why everyone remaining watched me now with eyes sharper than before.
I stepped before the elder leader.
“From this moment, I will personally guide you through the path of the Daecheong Simbeop. As everyone here knows, the Daecheong Simbeop is one of the Namgung clan's secret heart methods and the foundation for all our other techniques, so it must be mastered first.”
Unlike before, the elder leader explained in detail. This third test carried more weight than the previous two, and above all, it involved handling internal energy—a single misstep could lead to disaster.
“Namgung Daeso, from now on, you must move your internal energy exactly as I instruct. The test ends the moment it settles in your dantian.”
In this third trial, the elder leader would first assist with a full-body circulation. Then, I would perform the qi circulation alone along the same path. The evaluation came afterward, based on the quality of the settled internal energy.
That quality fell into four grades by size: a speck of dust for low, a grain of sand for mid, a mung bean for high, and a grain of rice for top.
The amount of energy gathered in a single circulation varied because everyone's meridians, blood vessels, their clarity, sturdiness, and innate senses differed. These were set at birth—purely innate talent that couldn't be changed later.
In my previous life, I hadn't been born with it.
The elder leader continued, detailing the Daecheong Simbeop and the potential mishaps from errors. At last, he finished and placed his hand on my back.
“Sit in the lotus position, Namgung Daeso, and focus your mind.”
I immediately assumed the pose and closed my eyes.
Saaah.
Pure, potent energy flowed from my back into my body, guided by the elder leader. It followed the exact path of the Daecheong Simbeop, circling once before entering my dantian.
“That was the full-body circulation of the Daecheong Simbeop. It has now ended under my guidance. Namgung Daeso, do you remember the path I took? Nod if you do.”
Of course I did. I'd trained in it more and longer than anyone. Most only used the Daecheong Simbeop to build their dantian foundation before advancing to higher methods. But not me—I'd stuck with it for a full twenty years.
I knew its energy better than anyone. Not wild, yet not weak. Perfect for beginners, compatible with advanced techniques, ideal for establishing a solid base—as long as it stayed on the proper path.
I nodded.
“Good. Now circulate it yourself.”
His words ended, and his hand lifted from my back. This was the true test of a Namgung direct descendant.
Today, as I circulated the Daecheong Simbeop, my meridians would tangle wildly, disappointing everyone before their eyes. I'd be barred from training for at least two years, and even after recovery, I'd never rise above third-rate.
Anyone else would never dare attempt this. But I knew the truth: my talent was trash. Proven in my past life. And over those two years, I'd convince my brothers and the entire clan that Namgung Daeso had no aptitude for martial arts.
In truth, I didn't. A faint fear stirred—deliberately wrecking healthy meridians wasn't pleasant. But it beat a shattered dantian turning me into total waste later.
The Namgung clan had excellent physicians and top elixirs. The treatment would hurt, but no lasting aftereffects. My meridians might even end up sturdier than a commoner's.
Alright! Here we go!
Focusing on my dantian, I sensed the faint energy the elder had planted. I moved it along the Daecheong Simbeop path. Already cleared once, it obeyed easily.
Midway through.
Time to start.
I forced it into irrelevant meridians, harmless to life but disruptive. It resisted at first but yielded to my will.
Zzt!
Urk!
Pain like torn meridians struck—like lightning through my body. But flinching now would end it prematurely with just minor damage. That wasn't the goal.
Big time! Enough for two years' bedrest at minimum.
I endured, shoving the energy through untrod paths. Unspeakable agony wracked me each time, but I bore it.
About half a shichen later, the deed was nearly done. So many meridians tangled—even I lost count.
Two years' recovery? This might take three.
Huff huff. Hurts like hell, but perfect. This'll do.
I scattered the gathered energy at once, vomiting blood and unleashing pent-up pain.
Cough!
“No!”
The elder leader urgently pressed my back, expelling all remaining energy. Calls for a physician rang out.
Thud.
Thrilled at the overkill success, I blacked out blissfully. Thus, I missed one arrival.
“Everyone, halt.”
That command froze the room. All bowed toward him at once.
Mushin Namgung Hancheol.
His sudden appearance tensed every face. Especially my eldest, second, and third brothers' group—they kept stealing glances at him.
Why had the patriarch returned? Was he favoring the youngest? Or just doting as family?
The reason was unclear, but his actions today were odd. He'd skipped the welcome ceremony entirely. And he appeared right as I collapsed, as if watching all along.
In that instant, the Namgung clan's three factions began viewing Namgung Daeso as a key figure.
“The youngest goes with me. Elder Leader, summon Singui immediately.”
“Singui...? You mean the one I know?”
“Are there two in the martial world with that moniker?”
“N-no, but... I heard Singui stays hidden, location unknown to all...”
“Drinking and passed out in my quarters. Bring him to the 1st Gajujeon.”
The elder leader reeled inwardly, shock piling on shock. The patriarch's abrupt arrival was startling enough, but Singui—the legendary physician seen once in a lifetime—drunk in the clan estate?
If not from Namgung Hancheol, he'd call it madness. He responded at once.
“Yes, sir!”
Namgung Hancheol swept his gaze around and departed with one final word.
“The welcome ceremony ends here.”
It did. But no one left.
The eldest, Namgung Dae, spoke first.
“Tangled meridians or torn blood vessels cause that reaction.”
The second, Namgung Jung, continued.
“Weak innate meridians tangle or tear during circulation too.”
The third, Namgung So, added,
“The youngest showed bottom marks in strength, agility, and qi sense. He won't achieve much in martial arts.”
Yet all three—and everyone—lingered for one reason. Namgung Hak, captain of the Cheonggung Sword Corps, the clan's strongest unit and aligned with the eldest faction, said it.
“The issue is the patriarch seems to hold our youngest young master dear, for whatever reason.”
Silence agreed.
No wolves or foxes lurked in the Namgung clan—only dragons and tigers. Yongdamhohyeol: a place for dragons and tigers.
The three brothers were acknowledged dragons, surrounded by tigers. If those dragons and tigers accepted Namgung Daeso not as a fox, but a tiger—albeit a wounded cub...
* * *
Only two in the martial world dared a title with "god." First: Mushin Namgung Hancheol, the undisputed world's best.
Second: Singui, the Divine Physician. His skills touched the divine; heaven's top healer by all accounts.
Creak.
The elder leader burst into the 2nd Gajujeon, wrinkling his nose.
“Foul.”
Alcohol stench filled the room. He waved, summoning a breeze that cleared it out the window.
He approached the man sprawled starfished in the center.
Singui was said to be in his seventies—rumors fit. Yet he looked barely forty, even generously.
The elder leader, over ninety but appearing seventy, shook him casually, as if such youth were normal.
Shake shake.
“Ugh... stomach's churning...”
“Singui-nim. The patriarch summons you.”
“Patriarch? Some booze brand?”
Still groggy. The elder relayed Namgung Hancheol's prior transmission:
-If he won't rise, tell him this: "The patriarch says if you don't haul ass to the 1st Gajujeon right now, he'll test if you can survive a hole in your heart."
“What? That bastard!”
Flash!
Singui's eyes snapped open. He bolted.
The elder leader nodded—classic Namgung Hancheol; he'd do it.
“Still, what happened...?”
Composed till now, he'd been stunned since Namgung Daeso's entrance.
He recalled cutting the nursery support five years ago. No word since—he'd assumed death.
Without the patriarch, he'd have shown his shock. He knew the boy's aptitude well: as expected today.
First test: low. Second: low. Crucial third: bottom.
Total waste.
The Namgung clan at its peak needed no such refuse. He worried not just for this generation, but the next transitions. Namgung must always be supreme.
Could they remain the top clan then? Now, yes—thanks to Namgung Hancheol. Without him?
No certainty. So he'd chosen: cull the weak, nurture the strong.
Namgung Daeso was weak. Cut five years ago.
Yet he returned. Why the patriarch's interest? Unclear.
The youngest young master strikingly resembles the late wife.
Even cold-blooded Namgung Hancheol couldn't ignore a son's blood tie. That explained it—or nothing did.
* * *
Days later, I opened my eyes. Two middle-aged men stared back.
“He's awake.”
“Yep.”
One addressed the other.
“Heh. Thought monsters like you were gone from this world, but a Cheonmu Jiche? Unbelievable. A rare variant too.”
I had no clue the situation, but one thing was clear.
This is bad.